


push the spear into your side again

by OnyxSphinx



Series: knives 'verse [2]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Chronic Pain, M/M, genuinely i set out to write maybe 500 words but this is uh. three times that long., tom harris is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29976030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: "No," he says. "No, I won't. I told you last time, I'm done.""For medical reasons, yes, you've said," Jones says, impatiently. "That's nonsense though, Alex, and we all know it. The echo, x-ray, and blood labs came back negative. The worst thing you have wrong with you physically is slightly high blood pressure."He grits his teeth. Tries to think about Tom back at home, who probably won't appreciate if he comes back looking beat up because he got into a scuffle with Crawley—he has no illusions that the man will be on him in moments if he tries to lay a hand on the woman in front of him. "So just because I don't have a medical fucking diagnosis, you're telling me that the issues I have just, what—don't exist?" The words come out bitten off and harsh; and he almost catches a flinch in her eyes.
Relationships: Tom Harris/Alex Rider
Series: knives 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204838
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	push the spear into your side again

**Author's Note:**

> i make absolutely no apologies for the fact that this fic was written for an audience of one (me). also the title is a slightly modified lyric from passerine by the oh hellos because once again i cannot come up with titles

They've dragged him in for another debriefing; the sixth one in as many months. The linoleum beneath Alex's feet is white and styled to look like tiles; and he wonders why they didn't just put in tiling to start with. The air, as it always is in the Royal & General, is almost bitingly cold; and he's suddenly glad that Tom made him wear his coat, even though he was only just going down the block to the store. 

He's sat in a chair across from Mrs. Jones; his jaw clenched; watching her suck on one of the mints she seems to perpetually have a supply of, no matter where she is. "Alex," she says, quietly, "please reconsider."

Alex nearly laughs. Instead, he takes for clicking the pen he's been offered a bit too aggressively; the  _ click click  _ of it echoing through the room. Crawley, who's standing off to the side, winces slightly.  _ Good, _ Alex thinks viciously,  _ this is what you get for practically kidnapping me. _

"No," he says. "No, I won't. I told you last time, I'm done."

"For medical reasons, yes, you've said," Jones says, impatiently. "That's nonsense though, Alex, and we all know it. The echo, x-ray, and blood labs came back negative. The worst thing you have wrong with you physically is slightly high blood pressure."

He grits his teeth. Tries to think about Tom back at home, who probably won't appreciate if he comes back looking beat up because he got into a scuffle with Crawley—he has no illusions that the man will be on him in moments if he tries to lay a hand on the woman in front of him. "So just because I don't have a medical fucking diagnosis, you're telling me that the issues I have just, what—don't exist?" The words come out bitten off and harsh; and he almost catches a flinch in her eyes.

Jones opens her mouth. "Now, be reasonable—"

"I'm  _ done _ being fucking  _ reasonable, _ " he snarls; ribs painfully tight as he drags in a breath to try and steady himself. "You blackmailed me as a kid, and then when I was legal, you didn't even bother hiring me—just kept manipulating me.  _ Oh, but Alex, if you don't do this, millions will suffer, _ " he mimics. "Don't fucking pretend you couldn't have sent someone else on those missions. You just wanted someone who was disposable."

He stands; dropping the pen on the desk; the chair skittering back; and blackness encroaches on his vision. He bites the inside of his cheek, hard, in an attempt to ground himself; hopes that this time he won't wind up on the floor. Thankfully, a few seconds later, his vision slowly fades back in.

He notices Crawley's taken a step closer; hand hovering, obviously, over where his gun's holstered beneath his coat; and Alex almost laughs. It'd be the highest level of irony if 'six were the ones to do him in.

Coppery sweetness floods his mouth a second later, and he realises he's bitten too hard; unclenches his teeth, cheek stinging. When he opens his mouth to speak, he sees a flicker of shock in Jones' eyes, just for a heartbeat, and wonders if there's blood on his teeth. "I'm telling you nicely," he says, quietly, "for now. If you try and manipulate or blackmail me again, I'll—" he drags in a shuddering breath; closes his eyes for a beat. His legs are aching from standing, and he yearns to sit back down, but that train's left the station.

Jones watches him with a wary expression; cheeks sucked in slightly. "I don't think anyone would like to know that 'six used a fourteen year old," he says, finally; voice slightly hoarse; and when Crawley makes a noise of disbelief, snaps, "don't  _ fucking _ test me. I  _ will _ go through."

Jones' nostrils flares slightly as she exhales sharply. "Fine," she says. "But if you say a single word about any of your work for 'six, you can be certain that we will retaliate."

He nods; jerkily; makes his way to the door. As soon as he's out of the room, he leans against the wall; head dropping back and hitting it with a soft  _ thunk. _ Fingers fumbling, he digs through his pockets, fishing out his phone, and unlocks it after a few tries, navigating to Tom's contact and hitting call.

The line rings a few times before Tom picks up. "Alex?" He sounds worried. "Are you alright? It's been a while since you went down to the store."

Alex lets out a long breath; sliding down the wall until he's kneeling; the motion jostling his shoulders, and he holds in a wince as it sends a stab of pain through them and up his neck. "I'm—fine," he says, finally, realising he's been silent for too long. "Look, just—something came up. Can you pick me up outside the bank?"

There's a sharp inhalation. "The bank?" Tom says, finally.

Alex hums affirmatively; feeling suddenly too overcome to speak properly. "Alright," Tom says; and Alex can hear the barely controlled rage behind his careful façade. "Alright. I'll be there in ten. Can you meet me out front?"

He thinks on it for a few moments; finally manages, haltingly, "I don't think so."

"Alright. Alright." He can hear rustling in the background; probably Tom pulling on his coat. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"Third floor," Alex replies, promptly. "...right outside room 145."

"Right." He thinks he can hear Tom dragging a hand over his face. "Okay. Do you want me to stay on the line?"

"...yes. Please," Alex says, finally, closing his eyes.

"Okay. I can do that."

For the next ten minutes, Tom keeps up a running commentary as he drives to the bank; which Alex appreciates immensely. Having something else besides his pain and anger to focus on helps keep him slightly out of his own head. Finally, there's a tap on his shoulder; and he opens his eyes to find Tom looking at him, phone still pressed to his ear. "You want a hand?" The sound echoes, doubled by the fact that he's still on the phone, and it almost makes Alex smile. Instead, he just nods his head slightly.

Tom nods. "Alright," he says, and hangs up, shoving the phone into his pocket. Alex, fingers shaking slightly, pockets his own phone as well; takes the hand Tom offers him. Together, they manage to get Alex on his feet and down to the car.

Sitting down in the passenger seat feels like heaven. Tom even lets him pick the music, which really speaks to how worried he is. Alex wants to reassure him that everything's going to be fine, but he can't seem to find the energy to do so.

"Do you mind if we stop at the store?" Tom asks, a few moments later, a few blocks from the store.

Alex shakes his head. "Okay," Tom says, pulling in to the parking lot, "I'll be right back." He leaves the car on; the heater running; which Alex appreciates. He's still slightly chilled from standing inside Jones' office.

When Tom comes back, he's holding a few bags of groceries, and he sets them in the back. When he gets back into the driver's seat, he hands Alex a bottle of water and a bottle of pills marked _ Aleve.  _ "I asked the pharmacist what the strongest over the counter pain medication I could get there was," he explains.

"I could probably have dry swallowed them," is all Alex can think to say. It comes out hoarse and barely audible.

Tom looks at him, and laughs; slightly hysterical. "Fuck," he says. "Yeah, I mean, probably. You shouldn't have to, though."

"...thanks," Alex says, finally, the word half a whisper. He opens the bottle, puncturing the seal, and takes one of the large, white pills, downing it with a gulp of water.

"They didn't make you accept another mission, did they?" Tom asks, after a pregnant pause.

Alex swallows thickly; sinking slightly back into the seat. "They tried," he says. "I...quit, I guess. I sort of threatened to out them for forcing me to work for them as a kid."

"Oh."

Alex's lips twitch. "Yeah."

Tom nods. "Okay." He worries his lip for a moment. "Maybe we should get the doctor to prescribe you something."

"She said she 'didn't want me to become reliant on medication'," Alex quotes.

"That's  _ bullshit, _ " Tom snaps; gripping the steering wheel; hand white-knuckled. "Sorry, but it is. You're  _ suffering.  _ Fucking—reliant. God. That's. That's  _ such  _ bullshit. How do you feel about switching doctors?"

"Pretty good," Alex says, after thinking for a long moment. "Honestly, the clinic probably wasn't the best idea—they only have GP's there."

" _ Still, _ " Tom says. Drags his hands down. Sighs. "Sorry, I don't mean to be—" he waves a hand. " _ Overbearing, _ or whatever. It just—it makes me really mad to see you suffering and have people tell you that you just need to, I don't know, buck up and take it."

Alex shakes his head. "You're not. And I appreciate your—level of concern and outrage, I guess. It's nice to know that I'm not just exaggerating things."

Tom nods jerkily. "Okay," he says. Reaches out to squeeze one of Alex's hands. "We'll find you a specialist, then, if you want?"

Alex nods. "That sounds good." And then: "Can...can we go home now? I'm really tired."

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," Tom nods. Squeezes his hand again before dropping it and starting the car. Alex leans his seat back, closing his eyes.

When they get back, they take the elevator up to the flat; and Tom helps Alex get situated in bed before crawling in next to him, purchasing his laptop on top of the blankets, one hand holding Alex's beneath the covers, the other typing away at one of his assignments.

The Aleve's finally kicked in; and Alex lets out a quiet sigh; shifting so his head is pillowed on Tom's shoulder; letting his eyes slip shut; at peace, for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
